


Dignity and Distortion

by BBirdy



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Pride and Prejudice Fusion, Blood, Blood and Gore, F/M, Pride and Prejudice References, Zombie AU, more tags to come
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:14:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25187770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BBirdy/pseuds/BBirdy
Summary: And zombies.It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.Or perhaps it is more in character to say this was once a truth. The world has shifted, frightfully so.And so, in light of that, I may wish to begin again.Tis a truth universally acknowledged, that a zombie in possession of human brains must be in want of more brains.For that is the world.ON HIATUS
Relationships: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Alya Césaire/Nino Lahiffe
Kudos: 3





	1. Prolouge

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife. 

Or perhaps it is more in character to say this was once a truth. The world has shifted, frightfully so. 

And so, in light of that, I may wish to begin again. 

Tis a truth universally acknowledged, that a zombie in possession of

brains must be in want of more brains. 

For that is the world.

Never was this truth more plain, than in the recent attacks at Netherfield Park. In which an entire household was slaughtered by a horde of the living dead during a whist party.

"That is a frightful way to begin a tale," Marrinete Deupen-Chang looked up over the tip of her sketchbook, pale lips pressed tight. She'd gathered herself into the small drawing-room which she shared with her new sisters. 

Alya Césaire, a young woman with flowing locks of honey brown and a rich apricot dress swirling at her ankles shook her head, trying to begin once more. "And yet doesn't it strike an impressive story? When I publish the article-"

"When articles of the fanciful are to be believed once more," Marinette cut across her. Their smile was one of love, however. 

Alya had come to stay at the Deupen-Chang household after the more recent attacks. Safety in numbers had become the greeting of late. And with a now injured protector, her own sister, laywaid in a bed, hardly able to lift herself from a chair most days, and two little ones to look after Alya had stepped up.    
  
Marinette was in awe she had never once lost that warm smile, nor had the wicked glint behind those brilliant eyes.    
  
"May I continue?" 

Marinette gestured her onward with a prim giggle. 

And back to the wide-eyed young ones she returned. Ella and Etta Césaire, whose cheeks still stained pinks in the mornings from a night spent crying, scooted closer, enraptured by the one who weaved stories. 

"It wasn't always like this, my dear sisters," Alya leaned forward, hands outstretched, spreading the world wide. "As the century began, Britania was rich with the fruits of worldwide trade. From the colonies, there came not just silks and spices, but a virulent and abominable plague. Naturally, many suspected the French were to blame. Definitely the French." 

"Are you surprised?" Marinette asked, voice dripping with the french form her father. Though she had not been born in the country her father, once a baker, had turned a new leaf and had come to England to escape the spreading plague.  
  
Alya's eyes rolled toward the ceiling. "No. Now if you would be so kind so cease your unbidden interruptions."  
  
Again, she was wordlessly gestured to press on.  
  
"Once bitten, the newly-infected were filled with an insatiable hunger for the brains of the living," Alya's whisper had her sisters fleeing to each other's arms for comfort. "Millions perished, only to rise again as legions of undead. So certain did it seem the end of days had come. That even the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse are said to have ascended from hell. To protect the living, the Grand Barrier was built a one hundred foot wall, encircling London. Then excavation began on the Royal Canal, a vast mote thirty fathoms deep surrounding both the city and its walls. The land twixt the two fortifications became known as The In-between. At this time, it became fashionable to study the deadly arts of the Orient. Japan for the wealthy. China for the wise."

It twas the children who interupted this time, hiding their own giggles behind thier hands. 

"Now really," Alya crossed her laced arms. 

" _You_ studied in china."

"So she did," Marinette closed the books of dresses in which she'd had layered griphite, plans for a new dress, should the need for one arise. "It is how I met your sister, and how you have come to live here."

Ella shook her head. "No. We live here because mommy ate daddy."

"Hush," Alya's order was sharp, eyes bright. 

The children dropped their heads, tears welling in dark lashes. 

Marinette, a vision of royal red, deep locks tucked away under forced black curls, stooped down, gathering the mourning toddlers into that caring embrace. "One shouldn't talk that way." The words were gentle, but the icy gaze landed upon her friend, and not those cradled in her lap. 

With a soft sigh, Alya descended as well, taking Etta into her own arms. "I only mean that isn't proper for young ladies to use that kind of language."

The girls nodded. 

"Can you keep telling the story?" The request was soft and innocent. 

Alya laughed.

"In the Second Battle of Kent, one of the bridges that cross the Royal Canal was breached. Ravenous zombie hordes massacred every villager of The In-Between. It was said, the sight of this slaughter drove young King George mad. When the battle was finally won, he ordered the destruction of all the bridges, save one. Hingham Bridge, which to this day, remains the only means by which to cross the Royal Canal. Many believed the enemy was finally vanquished. The gentry began to leave the safe confines of London's defenses for their newly-fortified country estates. But vigilance is still every essence. Remember this, keep your swords as sharp as your wit. For the ultimate battle between the living and the undead has yet to be staged."


	2. Chapter Two

Stood on the edge of the dance floor Marinette carefully rearranged her hemline. The dress, for which she had used the time since frightful stories in making, had been the right choice.    
"Pockets in all the right spots," Alya had teased her for which she'd nearly been beaten by Nora. 

Nora had chosen once more to stay home despite all pleading made. 

But the phrase had not been the suggestive turn of phrase one would imply by her waggling eyebrows. Plainly meant both she and Marinette could now more easily reach the weapons with which to defend themselves, should defense be needed. 

But aside from practicality beauty was of great importance. Marinette herself had become a beauty. Her normal day clothes touched with red roses wherever she could manage was now a rose herself, long silk coming to rounded flows at her shoulders, dipping not quite low enough to be considered scandalous at her chest, but enough to draw passers-by in for a second glance. Black lace met every hem. And yet nothing could mask the slim waistline. 

"Too skinny," an elder whispered as they passed, turning up pointed noses. "Not good for bearing sons."

Heart sunk low in her chest she turned to her friend. 

Flushed with dance Alya spun in her own gown, smiling for all the world as if it had kept on spinning and those descending to their graves had remained. 

"You're easily five times as beautiful as any other woman in this room."

Alya flushed. "Paling in your comparison." 

Marinette shook her head, tucking a stray curl away. "There isn't a chance. Remember I am the accursed Parisian, come to infect the crops," her wink was conspiratorial.   
  
In the early days that could have once been the case. Now however was far different. There weren't enough people to hold grudges, nor to conspire with. Any person who still held a beating heart underneath their chest was welcome. 

That too included those darker-skinned Césaire children. Having once held a considerable wealth also placed them higher than most, even with that fortune eaten away by rotted teeth. 

Ella and Etta spun in circles, bound at the wrists. 

"I mean my words," Marinette pinched her already flushed cheek, teasing to bring more color.   
  
Alya had not yet truly recovered the plump joy she once had, worry sapping the curve from her.   
  
"It's true. These other girls don't stand a chance."

Alya grinned broadly, an unladylike position indeed, finding her friends bell blue cast downward.   
  
"Smile Marinette," she coaxed, taking her hand to pull her back to the floor, into the lively stringed instrument's sway. 

"I will. Later."

Marinette pulled away, lifting her gaze only as frantic muttering crossed over her as a passing wave. 

And so entered the host of the evening. 

A young man, just their age, as deeply toned as Alya, with spectacles that hung on the bridge of his nose, giving him a soft elderly glow to him, though a young face could not be so easily masked. 

"The new master of the household. Nino Lahiffe," the whispers brought news, a bottle in those cresting waves. "They say he inherited nearly a hundred thousand pounds."

"It was my understanding that Captain Lahiffe was in want of a wife."

A sniff of disapproval as a young woman clung to his arm, a simpering smile on darkly colored lips. A pound of blonde ringlets atop a ray of discolored sunshine. She wore a pad of melted butter for a dress and Marinette had to do her utmost not to imitate the women whom she so despised and turn up her nose. 

"His recently adopted sister. Chloe Bourgeois. 

"French," another sniffed. Though the words were brushed over. 

"Her father was a lord before his carriage was attacked."

"A lord you say?"

Marinette caught Alya's arm, if only to take her from such grim supposings and gossip. 

"What a magnificent husband he'd make," Alya had not taken notice of the cruel words, her eyes dancing in the candlelight.

"Do you think of nothing else?" her disdain turned to a soft smile, catching her friend's most enraptured expressions. 

Alya wagged her finger, pulling away attention. "Zombies or no zombies, all women must think of marriage, Mari."

"I shall never relinquish my sword for a ring."

"For the right man, you would."

"The right man wouldn't ask me to," Marinette said, a huff hidden under lighter tones and found her own eyes alighting on the newest to enter the room. 

Tall, thin, impossibly so in both regards or though it seemed to her. His face was drawn, no polite smile as he stood to join his friend. He too was blonde, as was Chloe, taking his arm, swinging from it like a child would a tied rope. 

He paid no mind to her, deep green eyes flitting across the crowd. His coat a dark black, buttons shone and collected. Designs at his cuffs glinted across candlelight. 

he was beautiful. And Marinette found her breath stolen away. 

"Adrien Agreste. A fearful fighter." The whispers reached her. 

"Rather an imposing presence." 

"Owns half of Derbyshire." 

"Ten thousand pounds a year, at least."

And those whispers meant less than nothing to her. He could have been a pauper and still, Marinette knew the thudding underneath her breast bone would thunder as loudly. 

"There is your smile," Alya said. 

Nino greeted him boisterously, managed to shoo away Chloe to speak. 

"So this is merriment?" Adrien's voice had turned haggard in his time away. Time underneath a mask to fight, though he wouldn't agree to it were he to be accused. 

"Has it been such a long time you have forgotten?" Nino's laugh, as always, had something of an effect of the dour Agreste. "You were once joyful. Has your spirit gone away with your manners."

Adrien took no outward offense, though his chest squeezed tighter under brass buttons. "Perhaps I…"

And his words trailed away, for his friend's own dewy-eyed gaze had alighted on something else. It was something, Nino had become sure, could not be of this dark world of viscera and darkness. She was too lovely to be truly real. 

Alya Césaire felt the press of the man's eyes, only to meet them with a smile that ignited Nino's soul. 

"She is the most beautiful creature I ever beheld," he spoke, a man possessed. 

"She smiles too much."

"She's an angel."

Adrien couldn't help but glower. The teasing brought it more often than not now. There might have once been a time he found frilly grinning creatures such as were women to be endearing. Now they were tiresome. Something else to entertain along with thoughts of the war to be fought. Besides, the one woman who had once brought him joy was no more. 

Shaking away grim thoughts he returned his full attention to his lovestruck friend, following after him.

Both young women started, curtsying as their host approached. 

"Nino Lahiffe pleased to make your acquaintance," he bowed smartly. 

And other acquaintance to be shared, the young ladies employing all ladylike manners in the presence of inquiring suitors. 

"We've heard much about you, Mr. Lahiffe," Alya did her utmost to remain even-tempered, though her heart demanded much more. Mildly starstruck Nino repeated his bow, unsure if he had quite managed it his first time. "Well… May I introduce my friend, Mr. Agreste of Derbyshire!"

Eager to leave behind all awkwardness Marriente spoke up, clearing her throat as gently as she could manage. "Are you enjoying Hertfordshire, Mr. Lahiffe?" She padded down her silken skirts, a nervous gesture she was quite unaware of. 

"Very much," he agreed."

"I've heard the library at Netherfield is one of the finest." She could already imagine herself, lost among tomes, exploring fashions of time long past. She dreamed one day of donning a large french ball gown, using layers of floating skirt to glade away like a cloud. Though this was a desire she could not share in her present company. She was the eldest, the only daughter of the Depun-Chang's, to live up to legends.

"Library? Is it?" He asked, entirely at a loss, attention turned. "Miss Césaire, may I be so bold as to request the next two dances? If you are not otherwise engaged."

"I'm not engaged."

"Good for you!" the whirlwind of lace and yellow silks interpreted easily, taking Mr. Agreste's arm once more. Chloe's prim smile sharper at the edges, more pointed than the daggers hiding underneath voluminous skirts. "You have chosen the loveliest of the outcast daughters."

Alya returned the look in kind. "It is not like you to insult oneself. I assume you must learn your place at some time." Nino took her hand and the couple had swept themselves onto the dance floor.    
Marinette, with all daggers, safely tucked away could not help but to feel underdressed, placed before two young people of such character when her own was so often called into such scrutiny. 

Bristling underneath the layers of painted makeup Chloe cleared her throat. "I consider dancing to be the first refinement of polished society. Don't you agree, Mr. Agreste?" She turned her attention, the simpering pressing on, perhaps a staple in the mannerisms of the young miss.

"No, every savage can dance," he brushed away her clinging fingers. "Why, I imagine even the zombies could do it with some degree of success." 

The soft giggles of Ella and Etta soured Marinette's spirits. 

What once she had imagined as a beautiful man had soured if only instantly. What right was it of a man to possess such lack of manners in pleasant company? A fighter he may be, a gentleman he was not. And the fire underneath red silk was doused to a grim frown. 

"Good evening."

He'd stalked away before Marinette could find her tongue, not that any words spoken to him would have had a degree of clarity or kindness after such behavior.

The dances continued. 

Alya Césaire continued to set the party alight, even as her friend and companion took to the side of the room. 

Marinette set a chin in her gloved hand, watching the dancing children. Reduced to no more than a nanny as all suitable dancing partners chose women around the room. 

It was enough to depress one's spirit to one degree or another. 

"Please don't forget our next dance, Miss Césaire." Nino's words drew Marinette to the present, watching with amusement as her friend returned to her, out of breath and flushed as a new rosebud. 

Nino to returned to more familiar company, taking to the side of the room where Adrien hid in the shadows he could find." You know I hate you just standing there. You must dance," Nino's encouragement may well have been its foe as the dark lines dug into Adrien's face furrowed deeper.    
"You know I detest it when I'm not acquainted with my partner."

He narrowly avoided the yellow gloved hands reaching after him, letting Nino lead him away. 

"Adrien."

"You are dancing with the only handsome girl here," he summoned his excuse with an ease that troubled not only his friend. When had he become so adept at avoidance to real human contact? Perhaps it had grown with his combat and ability to avoid the dead. People were people, whether on this side of the grave or the other. 

"Oh, but one of her sisters is also very pretty. Dare I say, very agreeable," they alighted on the young Miss Deuppen Chang. 

Gossip had afforded Adrien the knowledge of their tenuous sisterhood, if against his will. Snipping words were everywhere, like the buzzing of bees on a hot summer's eve. 

"Well, she's tolerable but…."

"Tolerable?"

"Yes, tolerable. But not handsome enough to tempt me. Nor any other man here, apparently." Had his tongue become this sharp in his time away, his rudeness only a ploy to evade his friend? Or did he believe his own disparagements?

"Agreste, your standards, my dear fellow…"

Neither had noticed, nor would they have if not the subject of their conversation, eyes brimming with a sorrow she could not swallow down, knocked a glass from the table on her quest for the door. 

Both turned and whatever light-hearted spirit the dance had brought sunk to the depths. Adrien spoke through numb lips, hating the distaste found upon his tongue. "Oh, that is unfortunate."

"What a lack of grace," Chloe's own laugh drifted across the newly buzzing words of the crowd. 

And Marinette fled the overly warm hall, heart throbbing. 

She found her furious march lead her to a softly glistening fire, arms curled around herself. Anger bubbled like water from a pot, anger driving away the water at the tips of her own cheeks. 

"Mr. Agreste, you’re an insufferable prig," she snarled under her breath along with many other less favorable phrases, ones her mother would wash her mouth with soap for considering, let alone speaking aloud. 

"Gabriel Agreste," a conspiratorial sigh, flooded with a soft sympathy that brought the hard-fought tears closer to the surface. "I quite detest the man. So high and so conceited that I can't endure him."

"No," Marrinete could not help herself her bluntness, keeping a tenuous hold of her frantic emotions. "No his son. That deplorable little man. Why, I wouldn't dance with him if he were…" and her voice was gone, died in her throat. For the voice that had crept up so stealthily behind her was not one of a stranger. "Miss Beauréal…?"

She hadn't dared turn around, stomach sinking to the rocky path below her. Aurore Beauréal had been her age, they had played together in parks and along their high back garden wall. The sweet child was never seen without her sky blue umbrella, which blocked her from gaining so much as a freckle. 

Turning slow, knowing he move could be her last lest she not take each centimeter carefully Marrinette spoke. "Miss Beauréal. You're undead."

And indeed she was. The dress, which may once have been beautiful was no mud streaked. Blonde curls hung limply to one side of her face, where her eye, once a brilliant blue, had faded to a milky gray. But the absolute worst was the line, like someone had cracked a melon open, she thought wildly, along her forehead, giving her a tiara of dripping black viscera and blood. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, anyone who has read my stuff wll know I update every story weekly. This is not one of those stories. This is one where the idea ate away at my brain (pun very much intended) and I will be posting the remainder of this possibly daily to every two days until it's done.


	3. Chapter Three

Even though the mess that was her face Aurore Beauréal seemed so utterly egear. Leaning forward, like a child sharing gossip on a school group her smile spread, blood dripping down what remained of her pale chin. "Shhh. Not so loud. I've come to tell you some-"  
  
Marinette was too paralyzed by frantic emotion. Her numb fingers reached for the slit in her skirt. 

It was no matter. 

A gunshot, loud as thunder splattered the woman's head as easily as a soap bubble. 

Marinette scrambled backward, hand pressed over her mouth. She whirled to face whomever was her savior, only to find a sour-faced Adrien Agreste, hardly ten paces behind. 

He approached, gun still clutched in his hand. 

"Marinette!" Alya ran to her, the short-legged children just behind her. "What happened?"

"I narrowly saved her life," Adrien spoke thinly. 

Longing to turn, to face her approaching sister Marrinete found she could not tear her gaze from the steady glare of the man before her. His mouth was drawn to a tight frown and, was it only her imagination that detected the tremor in his hand. 

"From Aurore Beauréal?" she found herself scoffing.

He gestured vaguely toward the puddle of gore in the damp grass. "From an  _ undead _ Miss Beauréal."

"I found her to be exceedingly tolerable."

His face soured ever further. 

Nino clapped a hand across his shoulder, only just out of breath from his run. He'd left his party at the first sound, only shortly behind Alya as they'd run from the doors. "Well done Adrien. Very heroic." He was only just out of breath for the caustic nature to fall flat. 

Marinette tore herself away from those crystalline green eyes. "She was trying to tell me something," she insisted, taking Alya by the hand. 

"A recipe perhaps?" 

Nino laughed at his friend, the sound dying in his throat after Alaya's firm glare. 

"Laugh if you like," Marinette drew herself up, pulling the silk cloth tighter around her bare arms. "You shall not laugh me out of my opinion. She posed no threat."

The bell cut off any retort Adrien could have summoned. 

"We're under attack!"

Screams sounded, people vanished. But Alya and Marinette reached only into their gowns, diving into the frey. 

Bodies came at them, broken jaws hung open, twisted arms outstretched. These were not the rambling, or the long-dead, given into the hunger and rotted. These were new, brand new, and ran with the speed that life would have once afford them. 

The blade slid from its hold and into Marinette's gloved hand. She gripped and swung with abandon, with the training her masters had forced into her, laced into her being. 

Blood splattered across the wall. Behind her, she could hear Alya, her cries of effort, the thud of falling undead at their feet. 

Neither could be stopped nor slowed. 

The swing of red skirts was harsher, brighter than the dying blood, set her out like a ladybug in a rose garden, a bud in the midst of thorns. 

Running to her side, those fleeing still around him Adrien found himself stopped. 

Frivolous actions was a thing he could not stand, dances and revelry a thing behind him, but to watch this young woman swing a blade as if it were an extension of himself, had his heart thudding in his ribcage. 

He hesitated only the moment, lost in his awe. 

Marinette paid no mind, nor did she have the mind to spare. Vaulted over the hunched corpse she swung the edge of her heel into rotted teeth, almost hearing the clatter before the skull they had once been attached to crunched onto the hardwood. 

Alya used all might, her own blade severing the neck of the nearest beast. 

Nino stopped at his side, muttering something about the fleeing guests. 

Adrien could only stare. "Her face is rendered  uncommonly intelligent by the beautiful expression of her bright eyes." He spoke without his own thought. "And I'm forced to acknowledge her figure as both light and pleasing. And that her arms are surprisingly muscular, yet not so much as to be  unfeminine."

How odd it was that the swing of her blade, slitting a throat would bring on such a feeling in him. 

Nino's high brow reached only further toward his hairline, at an utter loss. 

* * *

"The Lahiffe's have invited me to tea!" Alya sunk into the seat beside Marinette. The previous night had been washed from the clothes, the mornings training, and chore left behind them. And Marinette had taken to her usual seat in the window, redressed as she was in a far simpler dotted day dress. 

She did not look from her drawings. "Of course they have," she said primly. 

"You cannot be cross with me still," Alya's brows drew down. 

"I may be cross with you as long as I wish, as is my right."

Alya placed her letter upon the desk, a soft hand a light across her sisters. "Marinette. I have only said-"

"You have said all you wished and I have made myself clear. Agreste's pride has made a mark upon my own. Whatever looks the man may possess handsome is as handsome does. Never have I encountered a man so consumed by his own pride."

"A person may be proud without being vain."

"Pride relates more to our opinion of ourselves, and vanity to what we would have others think of us," she laid her bookmark among the pages, fearing she would never be able to return to the newest billowing skirt of her creation. 

"And yet he still saved you from a zombie."

"Mrs. Featherstone was quite civilized!" Marinette was on her feet, energy driving her there. 

Alya held up her hands, a surrender she had admitted to that morning as well. "Ye she still was a zombie. And I cannot begrudge him my gratitude when it comes to your safety."

The wound fury in Marinette's shoulders deflated. "If you have been invited to tea you must change into something more appropriate. Come with me."

Within a quarter of an hour, she was sitting aside horseback, mouth pinched and brows drawn. 

"Truly, I'd much rather go by coach," she repeated

"You had much better go on horseback, for it seems likely to  _ rain _ , then you must stay all night!" Her sister Nora had at last been coaxed into the sun, if only to see her sister off. Still, she sat in the old chair, the wheels creaking at any provocation of exertion. Once a fearsome fighter to color had been drained, powerful arms hardly able to lift themselves from her lap. And yet her intentions drew a smile to her face. 

Marinette laid a hand on the young woman's shoulder, chiding gently, easing her back into her seat, eyes raised to the soft-lit gray skies. "That would be a good scheme. If you were sure they would not send her home."

Alya's gaze provided the swat her raised hands could not. "I really would prefer the carriage."

Nora was laughing, relaxing herself once more. "Alya, Mr. Lahiffe undoubtedly likes you. But in nine cases out of ten, a woman had far better show more affection than she feels."

Marinette sighed softly. It was not only importer social normalities drawing her exasperation, but a concern, not to have her dear friend and sister by her side. The fear would undoubtedly have been unbearable had she not known Alya's ability to care for herself. she had seen such action only the night before. 

"Enough." She brushed Nora aside, taking Alya's hand. "Go quickly now. The zombies spring easily from the wet earth."

Alya clicked the teetering horse forward. 

Thunder followed her ominously out of the clearing. 

* * *

And so it was upon her arrival at the Lahiffe's residence only a day later that Marinette found herself grimly unsurprised. She was at once shown to her sister.

After the afternoon with her, Marinette returned to the small drawing-room, where Adrien, Nino, Chloe Bourgeois, and Chloe's young friend Sabrina Raincomprix now sat in dim candlelight. 

"How is she?" Nino had moved to his feet once more. "the doctor gave but little information."

"Feverish still, must have been caught in the downpour. She is sleeping now," Marinette remained composed, worry had sapped strength from her. 

"Did you walk all the way here?" Chloe lifted sharp eyes from her own hand, simpering. 

"Yes."

"I heard she received an injury to her hand," Adrien did not glance from his hand of cards, speaking as if the words did not alight the glowing embers of hatred in the young woman stood before him. He was apt to know by now, Marinette knew she did little to hide it. 

"Her musket backfired."

"There was no indication of a bite?"

"No," Marinette could feel fury swelling ever higher. How dare he, how  _ dare _ he? "Nor was it ever a question."

"She must be closely monitored and her room locked at all times…" Adrien laid down a card. 

"The is excessive Adrien," Nino chided.

Chloe sniffed, a hand on Sabrina's knee. "I detest illness. It keeps one in a continual state of inelegance."

"Quite," Sabrina nodded, a metronome, kept strung. 

Nino shot his guests a thin-lipped cough. " I'm sure she'll be quite well. Please join us, Miss Deupen-Chang."

Able to sense the matter being swept away Marinette collected her anger, providing the man of the house with a short curtsy. "Oh, thank you but I'll amuse myself with a book."

"You prefer reading to cards?" Sabrina said, at a great loss."

"I prefer a great many things to cards, Miss. Raincomprix." Marinette stood straight in the walkway, hiding balled fists behind soft skirts. 

Not bothering to hide the soft laughter Chloe spoke in loud Japanese. 

Marinette drew herself tighter, muscles widening. "I don't speak Japanese.

"No, of course," the contempt was poorly hidden on both countenances now, though dislike would have been too soft a word for the fire igniting under Marinette's breast. Chloe's smile drew back and for a moment Marinette found herself surprised to not see fangs or the rotted teeth of the undead with the hungry look of hate glistening in those shallow eyes.

"You didn't train in Japan. China, was it?"

"The Great Guardians of Miraculous in the Piáo chóng Province," Marinette recited with an honest if forced pride "It was there that I learned to endure all manner of discomfort."

"May I inquire as to the nature of this discomfort?" the disdain was only becoming more thinly veiled.

"I would much rather give you a demonstration."

Nino cleared his throat once more, dealing out cards once more. 

It was then Miss Bourgeois tried another tactic, if only to try and tear Adrien's fixed gaze away from their new guest. 

Indeed, once her attention had turned Adrien found himself unable to return his attention to the cards in his palm. 

"Mr. Agreste. I do believe you were telling us something of your mother."

"I was not," the smile in his voice was enough to draw Marinette, once examining dusty leather tomes, back toward the little crowd. "However, I am not one to begrudge the opportunity to speak of her."

Marinette found herself before the large mirror, examining the young face light as he spoke of the woman, a light not seen in all the moments known of him. It caused an unfamiliar ache deep within her. So young, to have lost so much, much like her own Alya. 

"I don't believe I've ever met a girl who was so extremely accomplished." Chloe had lain her hand atop intertwined fingers, eyelashes bat in his direction. 

"The word "accomplished" is far too liberally applied to young ladies today, but my mother Emelie did most definitely deserve that distinction. Not only was she a master of the female arts but deadly as well. I cannot boast knowing more than half a dozen in the whole range of my acquaintance that was thus accomplished."

"Nor I, I'm sure," Chloe crooned.

Marinette felt, more than willed herself to turn. "And Mr. Agreste, you must comprehend a great deal in your idea of an accomplished woman?"

"I do. A woman must have a thorough knowledge of music, singing, drawing, dancing, and the modern languages. She must be well-trained in the fighting styles of the Kyoto masters…"

Nino lifted his gaze to share something of conspiratorial glance at Marinette. 

She bit her lip in an attempt to keep composure. To think one person could truly be a master of all. Improbable if not impossible.

"-and weapons and tactics of modern Europe. Or the term would only be half-deserved." That odd smile had not slid from his face. 

He seemed far more comfortable here, in the dim candlelight. 

One might refer to him as charming had not Marinette met him the night before among anger and spite, his tirades long and temper short. 

"And you know six such women?" Marinette scoffed. her gaze alighted on the two frittering female companions he held, lifting a brow.

His slight shake of the head near drew a laugh from her downturned lips. Anger or no, he did at least seem aware of the uselessness of his own company. 

Still, she pressed on, refusing to endure him his jesting nature. "I wonder now at your knowing  _ any _ ."

"Are you so severe on your own sex?" His mouth had once more become downturned, card set on the table.

"A woman is either highly trained or highly refined. One cannot afford the luxury of both in such times." She turned from him, collecting a book from the shelf. It was clear no hand had touched it in a long while, if at all since the tightly bound tome was set on the shelf. 

"Ah…" his recognition caught her. "L'Art De La Guerre. The art of war."

"Have you not read it in its original Wu dialect?"

"Alas."

" _ Then you’ve never read The Art of War _ ," she said haughtily in proper Chinese. 

More glances were shared, this time she knew of her own expense, and this time anger was not so easily swept away, a stubborn stain of emotion clinging to her. 

"I should get back to Alya," she set the book roughly back where it belonged, stalking from the room. 

The men stood, offering short bows which she did not see. 

The words followed her out, Chloe's awful snarling laugh, like nails on cut glass. "She is one of those young ladies who seeks to recommend themselves to men by undervaluing their own sex."

"Undoubtedly."

Adrien spoke out of reactionary agent only. He watched the young woman go, Miss Bourgeois chatter fading to a buzz underneath his own ears.

What was it about this Miss Deupen-Chang that had ignited such a lark in him, had he not known better he would may have called it affection. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay! I am starting to figure out where this is going. As is probably obvious this isn't going to be a play by play with new names and is more of an 'inspired by' than a true remake. 
> 
> So a few characters won't be showing up and plot points skipped. 
> 
> It'll become more clear in the next chapter ;)


	4. Chapter Four

"This must be the extra militia they stationed here in Meryton. Oh, Ella, look at him!" Etta grabbed her sister's hand. Only either and already in love with the shining uniforms. 

The soldier crouched to the excited twins. "Good day ladies! And how are you?"

Giggling madly they turned away, in the ways they had seen their sisters turn, batting away compliments. 

Marinette, arms full of the weapons her mother and father had forced her to bring. There were a good four rifles in hand, the pistols at her waist, strapped tight with a leather belt. 

Latching to her arm, a full array of color returned to her, Alya smiled with abandon. "Look who Lieutenant Anciel is speaking to," she whispered conspiratorially, pointing with little subtlety. She took her own large rifle from Marinette, placing the others along the soft wooden bench beside the apothecary. 

In much a sour mood Marinette lifted her eyes to the duo of uniformed officers littering the open Townsquare. 

Each young man was somber-faced, uniforms neatly pressed. Marinette found herself dreading the moment those scratched white pants would meet the dirt and nightmare they were walking into. 

"Who am I looking for?" she asked after a moment, still scanning. "For I-" her words died in her throat. 

Marc Anciel, hat underneath his arm offered a brilliant smile, arm outward. "Miss Alya and Depuen-Chang, may I be so kind as to introduce Lieutenant Agreste."

Alya curtsied gently, in her ways already knowing, a smile gracing her lips only slightly. 

Beside her Marinette was stricken, her anger toward the man before her leaving her stiff. "We have been introduced."

"You have?" Marc looked between them, come to a loss. 

"May I be so impertinent as to ask for your first name lieutenant?" Alya hooked an arm through Marrinette's own, a placating gesture to keep her from pouncing. 

"Ah," the man grimaced, a far warmer smile upon his own face. 

That was a sight made to catch Marinette ever off her guard. 

The lieutenant bowed low, lifting with a smirk. 

Had Marrinette caught a better glance she may have compared it to a rather smug cat after consuming a canary. 

"I fear you may have already met my relation Adrien. My deepest apologies. My name is Felix Agreste. And it is with the greatest pleasure I make your acquaintance." He kissed Alya's hand, soft lips left longer on Marinette's palely gloved hand. 

"This is the man assigned to this township," Marc stood at attention, sharing in Alya's most ardent glee. Rearranging his face to a solemn business air he gestured to the still arriving militia gathering in the square. "He has just been assigned to our Meryton regiment to deal with the zombie resurgence."

Alya offered what could only be a flirtatious prim smile. "I bet your fearful handsome in your regimentals."

"Miss Césaire!" Marinette felt a flush rising up once before a pale cheek. 

At a loss for a response, Felix Agreste straightened his own collar. 

"We are overdue," Marinette urged Alya gently, pointedly. 

"Walk us?"

Miss Dupen-Cang prided herself on many things. She had once been an awkward child, unsure of her own body, but now nearing adulthood she was as sure as she could be. And in that moment she found herself facing two very distinct difficulties. The first of which being her blood rushed cheeks at the sight of this lieutenants smile. Her second problem, one far more pressing, was the surge of anger that quietly insisted she plant a mud-caked boot on her friends' hindquarters the moment she had opened her mouth. 

"We do have a prior engagement," Marinette spoke stiffly.

  
"May I inquire as to where two beautiful young ladies are headed, and so well armed?" Felix placed both hands at his spine, content to fall into step beside them. 

"My grandfather," Marinette collected both her wild emotion and the once guarded menagerie of weaponry. "He owns a small bakery in the city center."

"How lovely."

"Yes," Marinette spoke through gritted teeth, a motion she did not catch in time to cease. "We did promise to aid in baking. So we mustn't be late."

Alya switched to her other side. "Ah yes, Rolland Dupain's muffins are splendid."

"Is that so? May I do myself the honor of accompanying you."

"We would be enchanted," Alya pressed.

Marinette replaced the load of armed weaponry in her sister's arms. "It seems about to rain. Get these indoors would you?"

Shooting yet another rather knowing glance back over her shoulder Alya marched forward, gathering her younger sisters as she went. Her bright nature outshone the cloudless sky that day, no darker than the glistening morning sun. 

"Thank you for accompanying us, and enduring my sister."

"It is my pleasure," he offered her another bow, this one a touch comically in his low extension. 

Marinette found her grimace fading to be replaced with a countenance of soft mirth. "Are you to be stationed here all winter, Mr. Agreste?"

"That does depend entirely on what the manky dreadfuls have in store for us, Miss Deupen-Chang." His face grew harsh and dim. 

In that moment both he and whom she could only assume was his twin became startlingly closer in expression. Through where Airan held his shoulders straight with a kind of sorrow one could only call grief Felix found himself girding his mind for a battle that was entirely inevitable. 

It was incredible how she knew to read him. Perhaps it was only the due attention she had graced upon Adrien. Not that she had been paying a close eye to the man, Marinette reminded herself harshly. 

With her lost in her own mind, the air found themselves caught up with Alya. 

her own cheeks had flushed and in the moment Marinette found herself returning to this plane her eyes alighted on the figure who had frozen her sister in her tracks. 

"Mr. Lahiffe," Marinette greeted warmly. 

He returned her greeting with far less presence of mind, his eyes only for Miss Césaire."

"We were on our way to my grandfather's bakery," Marinette kept her tone far more conversational, yet could already sense the rise of panic deep underneath Alya's breast, without so much as glancing at her face. 

"Perhaps you may join us?"

"Not this morn," Nino's regret was writ plainly in the sharp decline of his shoulders. "Though I would love to see you again."

Marinette considered again and the thoughts that sprung to her mind lifted the corners of her mouth. "Mayhaps you would consider throwing a ball on your estate. With the way of the last foray to merriment one does wish for another with a more suitable end?"

Nino's own face lifted. "Only if Miss Césaire is sure she has quite recovered."

"She is," Marinette spoke for her gaping sister, her jaw hung like a fish pulled from a well. 

"Then I shall begin the preparations immediately for the most glorious ball Hertfordshire has seen," Nino smiled, catching the way the Luteniant shifted from foot to foot. "I do hope you will be able to join?"

Felix's own lips furrowed to a thin line. "I do not know if my attendance will be the most welcome in company you keep."

"I am in the mind of mending fences," Nino spoke firmly, leaving both young women behind in their talk. "The world in which we live has little time or space for hurt feelings to weaken the bonds humanity has left to hold. I will have an invitation sent to every officer here," he glanced over his shoulder regretfully, catching what must have been a fierce look, though Marinette's own confusion kept her from spying the source. 

"Excuse me," Nino Lahiffe bowed shortly, his gaze stuck on Alya even as he retreated. "Good day."

In the door of the bakery, not ten paces from the dispersing group Rolland Dupen cleared his throat, well-built arms crossing over a barrel of a chest. 

"Grandfather!" Alya dashed forward. Se had found herself acquainted with the aged man long before, endeared to both he and his plentiful baked sweets long ago. She gathered her younger sisters by the hands, taking them indoors once more."

And so it was the Felix Agreste and Marinette found themselves near entirely alone in the brightly lit morning time square, soldiers bustling on the periphery of their attention. 

Felix was not so easily swayed. His dark gaze alighted on the other side of the cobblestone street. 

And there, much to Marinette's dismay, she discovered the man to whom her companion shared such similar features. 

Both men locked eyes and dislike would have been to tame a word for the animosity found there. The men clearly despised the other, anger welling. 

"I do believe you have found the one to whom you addressed concern to Mr. Lahiffe about?"

Felix blinked, returning to her gentle face with a forced air of polite confusion. "Pardon?"

"You spurned Mr. Lahiffe's offer of an invitation. Is Adrien Agreste to take blame for missing such an opportunity."

His face lessened its glower. "With your mind and wit sharp as your blade it is no wonder your reputation proceeds you."

"Flattery will get you nowhere," Marinette balked. And yet there was a heat making soft rosebud underneath her cheeks. "Please do tell me what is amiss between you. With such strong resemblance, this cannot be much more than sibling rivalry?"

That caught Felix off guard. "You are acquainted with him?"

"More than I wish to be," she walked at a slow pace, wishing to drag out the several yards toward the bakery as long as she was able. "He's been here for less than a month and is already the least popular man in the county."

Felix's anger filled face melted to something one would call sorrow, if not for the fire still alight behind his eyes. The man was, on closer inspection, a great deal older than Adrien, though whether from years or hardship it was impossible to place. There were lines at his eyes and the blonde of his hair streaked white at the temples. 

Stress could do a great deal to the human body, Marinette knew that only too well.

"Iit always gives me great pain to see him. I've been connected to his family from infancy," he launched into his tale without warning, the words burst from him like water from a dam. "We are not siblings you see but cousins. Our mothers were very close. With my father's passing in my early life, we were raised alongside each other. I will admit his father tended to dote on me, perhaps because of the loss of my own. I cannot begin to do justice to his kindness. He bequeathed me with the best living and his gift. I had my heart set on joining the church. But at the passing of Adrien's mother by a zombie, both men became quite deranged. Gabriel Agreste and I launched ourselves into battle. And when he died in said battle Adrian used his birthright to deny me my inheritance."

"What could've induced him to pay you so cruelly?" Marinette found her fury and dislike piling high as a dung heap. 

"Pride. He thought me too low to be worth his consideration. I loved his father dearly, so I can never expose Darcy or challenge him to a duel." Felix spoke without the malice it was clear from his words he was righted to. 

Leaned out of the front door with the most knowing of glints in her gaze Alya called to her. "Miss Deupen-Chang. You keep us from our luncheon!"

Marinette flushed, turning to go only to find her elbow caught, a most forward gesture indeed. 

"Perhaps I will see you at Mr. Lahiffe's ball?"

"Perhaps. I'll be there. I've heard there shall be a ball," her own feeling wound around her tongue, sending the words tumbling past her lips and she scurried to the bakery door. 

Once gone Felix straightened his shoulders, glanced over one swept uniformed tassel. 

Across the clearing one with a near-identical face met those cold eyes, mouth pulled to a tight frown. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And you see where the changes begin. ;)

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what this is. I saw a tumblr prompt from sariahsue (check them out. they are amazing) and this just took hold. It's out of my update scheduale and eveything. I have no excuses. 
> 
> Please leave any and all comments and I will reply!


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